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go for it. Adam, Bree, and
the monster were inextricable
friends.
A Couple of Toots
Skeletal lines, jaundice yellow,
evil little breezes up the nose.
One
inhale, awesome, mean, tiny
hammer blows to the brain, and I
didn’t care who knew that
I was high,
(well, okay, I preferred clueless cops)
not Dad, who would be home
soon. He’d want one or
two
himself. Not the people next door,
who I’m pretty sure kept an ear
to the wall, waiting to see if
I would fly,
or attempt, like our wingless lynx,
to defy all instinct and natural
law, ball up courage, count to
three
and crest the edge in one mighty
leap. Or maybe she did just fall.
I wonder, as I wonder if
I,
locked in a cage of dreamless sleep,
a place where only the monster
can drop you so hard,
